


Looking for a Friend

by ourgirlfriday



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: End of the World, Fluffy apocalypse, M/M, well I guess after the end of the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourgirlfriday/pseuds/ourgirlfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Erik saw the stranger, he was fairly sure it was a stress-induced hallucination, although, to be fair, he hadn’t ruled out hunger, fatigue, or good old fashioned madness as the cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking for a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by this post of Luninosity's ( http://luninosity.tumblr.com/post/55149834644/so-slender-here-though-i-just-want-to-feed-him ) about feeding Erik tea and biscuits in a postapocalyptic waste. Everything I know about what an apocalypse might be is based on Cormac McCarthy novels and Fallout games. Also, this is unbetad, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or tomfoolery.

The first time Erik saw the stranger, he was fairly sure it was a stress-induced hallucination, although, to be fair, he hadn’t ruled out hunger, fatigue, or good old fashioned madness as the cause. Erik was a firm believer in keeping his options open. 

At least he thought he was. It was difficult to keep things straight, after a while. 

But the point is, the first time Erik was perfectly willing to accept seeing (or hallucinating, whatever the terminology may be) a delirium-induced stranger popping up from behind a pile of rubble and debris. It wouldn’t be the first time his mind had played tricks on him since he started down the road. The various promise of imaginary oasisis (oasisi? oasi? oaseem?) made cruel sense, and Herbert the imaginary talking vulture helped him pass the time, but this? This just lacked imagination. 

Even before the end of everything, Erik had been quite solitary, and had considered people either a means to an end or a diversion from his goal. Why hallucinate someone now, of all times? He barely missed people, he thought firmly, before cursing himself as a liar. 

It was, he mused, an unexpected blow to be disappointed in his own delusions. 

By the time Erik had come to this conclusion, the imaginary man in what seemed to be a sweater had disappeared. That solved that, at least. Clearly the man was a delusion – who would wear a sweater to _this_ post-apocalyptic desert wasteland? 

_Well_ , rational-ish Erik thought, _I_ am _wearing a suit. Sweaters are hardly more ill-suited_.

But, chimed in slightly-less-rational Erik, I look sharp. Just the sort of clean-cut young man anyone would trust with information about one Klaus Schmidt. 

_Yes_ , he responded patiently to himself, _but there is no one. Not even Schmidt_. 

Erik huffed and internally sniped, Well, they would trust me, if there were anyone. There was no response. 

Feeling both silly and watched, he snarled (lest any nearby bear or wolf or surprisingly-aggressive jackrabbit think he were easy game, just because he was having a slight existential crisis over imaginary fashion) and gathered bits of nearby metal to him, letting it fall into orbit around him as he started forward. He didn’t think about the road. He didn’t think about the man. It was best if he focused on the hum and pulse of his new metal moons until he didn’t have to think at all. 

It was perhaps a shame that in his concentration, he failed to hear a subdued gasp of wonder from the vague area of a singularly uninteresting pile of debris. 

******

Schmidt had won, in a way. 

Erik hadn’t been there. It was his either his greatest victory or bitterest regret that he had been too late to confront him, but by the time Erik had… convinced Schmidt’s Argentine associates to point him in the right direction, Schmidt and his club had already put their plan in motion. 

The USSR and the United States met each other in open war, or so the news reports announced in the brief time before news reports were snuffed out completely. Schmidt’s plan worked, and the two global powers unleashed all they had on each other. Humanity was over. 

But then, so was Klaus Schmidt. 

Erik had felt a blistering, terrified gale in his mind and he knew it was the final moments of the diamond queen, and the teleporter, and the silent one, and _him_. He could feel them burn and crumble to dust before he saw the first flash in the distance and felt a shift in the Earth. Erik followed the news as well he could in the panic as everything changed and the world became grey and people became more and more rare. 

So in the end, Schmidt had won. But it was a pleasingly pyrrhic victory, if you asked Erik. 

*****

The second time Erik saw the imaginary man was a few scant hours after the first time, and he froze. He couldn’t help but sense that, for a hallucination, the stranger wore quite a bit of metal. Erik could feel the skin-warmed weight of a watch, worn grommets, and what felt like a high-quality pen (and zips, Eric thought hysterically, though why that should make him blush he didn’t know). 

He had caught sight of the interloper in the reflection of one of his many satellites. The man, pale and slight and besweatered, was leaning out from behind one of the few standing walls some 50 feet back. He was very quiet, and very still. It was a bad idea, trying to make friends with possibly imaginary silent stalkers in the middle of a wasteland, but good god he might be real. 

It was a relief that the man hadn’t disappeared in that short time it took for Erik to pivot. He wasn’t sure at all what to do, although mutual gaping seemed to do for the short term. A good portion wanted to strike the possible man and he wanted to cling to the other, or run away, or make him share all his secrets, or pretend not to see him in turn. 

_It’s okay_ , a foreign voice echoed in his head. 

“What are you,” Erik snarled as he seized the man’s watch like a vise. The man giggled in response and Erik felt his own heart race in response. 

_I’m Charles. I’m like you. But with thoughts, not metal. Oh, you’re marvelous, you know._

Erik narrowed his eyes and spat “Stay out of my head. The man’s – Charles’ – _his_ face fell like Erik told him all the secrets of the universe were so much flim-flam and poppycock, and Erik did not feel guilty. It was perhaps indigestion. 

“I can’t,” the man murmured softly. “I tried, when…then. But it was too loud, and now I can’t not hear at all.” He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. His eyes were bluer than any mirage in the world. 

Charles peered at Erik for a long moment before bobbing his head in an odd motion before taking a step backwards as if to leave, and didn’t he know that was unacceptable?

“Wait.” Charles hesitated and glanced at Erik from under his floppy bangs. His lips were obscene in the unrelenting grime. “Is, is that how you found me? My thoughts?” Erik smoothed down the front of his (shabby, grimy) blazer and maintained eye contact while trying to broadcast an air of pragmatic competence ( _and sexiness_ , added unhelpful Erik). Charles nodded and smiled, just a little, as a faint blush painted his cheeks.

“I brought you something.” He pulled out bundles from his pockets and held them out for Erik’s inspection. Erik stepped forward. He could smell Charles this close, sweat and dust and something that Erik hadn’t know he missed until now. 

“Biscuits,” Charles supplied eagerly. “And tea. My mum always made tea for visitors. I wondered if you’d like, maybe, to stay? With me?” 

Erik blinked away moisture from his eyes. “I thought I was alone.” His insides were raw, all of a sudden, and it took all he had not to fall into Charles’ arms. 

_Oh, my friend_ , Charles whispered in his mind, _you’re not. You’re not alone._

It was only natural, then, to follow where Charles led. And if he was later rewarded by Charles’ vigorous…hospitality, well. Erik was too much a gentleman to kiss and tell, even to himself. 

(Charles’ gifts are helpful in finding other wayward mutants traveling the road near what used to be Westchester. They cobble together a family of sorts over time.)

(Charles’ gifts are also helpful in sorting out any kerfuffles over food or territory with less friendly survivors)

(And, of course, Erik’s abilities, pre-apocalypse hobbies, and disposition are more than enough to dissuade anyone unmoved by Charles’ efforts).

(And they lived as happily as they could, given the circumstances, ever after).


End file.
